


Roadrunner

by gross_batpanda



Category: 18th Century CE RPF, American Revolution RPF, Turn (TV 2014)
Genre: Class Issues, Dirty Talk, Frottage, Grooming, Gross, Half-Sibling Incest, Hand Jobs, M/M, Masturbation, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Sexually Charged Playfighting, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Unhealthy Relationships, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-10-05
Updated: 2017-05-11
Packaged: 2018-08-19 16:59:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,802
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8217985
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gross_batpanda/pseuds/gross_batpanda
Summary: "George leaned against the doorway of the cramped kitchen as he pulled on a worn t-shirt. The thin cotton clung to his chest, and Lawrence snuck a glance at the front of his briefs. Those were tight as well, and didn't leave much to the imagination--at least that was filling out nicely."The Chicagoland prequel/Amrev incest ship literally no one asked for.





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> In which a brief flashback from the Chicagoland series becomes a full-blown chapter fic. Oops.
> 
> CAVEATS:
> 
> There's incest. This is an incestuous ship.This is a very unhealthy dynamic with no redeeming qualities. Please consider the tags before reading. 
> 
> I'm not adding this into the Chicagoland series because I don't want to disrupt the narrative arc there, but consider this as a prequel to Chicagoland, spanning George's adolescence in the 70's to just before meeting Ben.
> 
> Otherwise, sit back, relax, and enjoy the gross.

**1969**

 

George kicked the dresser in frustration. This whole thing was stupid. His room was stupid. This entire shithole housing complex was stupid. His mother's bland declaration as she smoked while Betty made breakfast was really fucking stupid. _Your brother’s going to staying here for a while, to help out with some things. You're gonna have to share your room. Make some space in your dresser._

So fucking stupid and unfair. He dumped his clothes on the bed. It's not like he had much in the first place; his mother made him pawn his guitar after everything good in his life blew up in literal and figurative flames.

He moved his sticky collection of magazine clippings to the bottom of the first drawer, along with his notebooks full of poetry, and covered everything with socks and underwear. His mother never bothered with cleaning his room and Lawrence was always cool to him, but there were some things he didn't want to have to explain.

Once he was finished, leaving two drawers empty for Lawrence, he pulled out his favorite photo of Steve McQueen, shirtless and straddling a motorcycle and jerked it until he soaked his hand with a muffled grunt.

  


###

  


George and Betty waited for Lawrence to pull up to the cracked parking lot. Finally, he pulled up in his Plymouth, grinning and carrying his duffel bag. Betty rolled her eyes. “Your car isn't gonna last long around here.”

Lawrence grinned. “No one's gonna fuck with my car. Be a help with the groceries”.George hadn't seen him since he had gotten leave for the funeral, helping carry the casket in his Merchant Marines dress uniform.

He sighed when he got into the apartment, and helped Betty with dinner, which they ate around the small table in the cramped kitchen. Having Lawrence around made things easier, warmer. He didn't talk down or bark orders or ignore George. He asked about school, cracked a few jokes, even let him have a sip of his beer. “Betty, if you squeal to your mother I'll cut off your pigtails”, he chuckled as Betty rolled her eyes. Mom got home a few minutes later, earning a mumbled “speak of the devil” from Lawrence as she slipped off her heels and hung up the garment bag with her costume. Dinner shift was alright, her tables tipped well, Lawrence have you gotten settled alright thanks for picking up groceries.

It was the first time things felt normal in a while.

Later, Lawrence slipped off his shirt and jeans and tossed them in a pile. George did the same, with his back turned, to give an illusion of privacy. “It's all right kiddo, I've seen you naked before, jeez.” George blushed at that, and dived under the covers in his t-shirt and briefs. Lawrence only chuckled as he pulled on a pair of sweatpants and crawled into bed with him. He fell asleep buried in Lawrence’s chest. Maybe this wouldn't be so bad after all.

  


###

  


George looked older than fifteen. He'd grown like a weed, and the softness in his face was replaced by a certain sharpness and haggard quality. Some of that was Mary, who was all  edges and angles, some of that was probably the change in circumstances. Lawrence had tried his damndest after Dad died, sending money, trying to do whatever he could from aboard a supply vessel on the Mekong. In the end, Mary didn't care. Lawrence was discharged after Charlie shot up his shoulder in a firefight, fucked around and took some odd lumber jobs up north, didn't even know how bad things were until Mary had called him, and it was too late and the house was gone

Only his skinny calves gave George away. He took after Dad--he'd be a brick shithousr eventually. He was more sullen and reserved, barely talking in the mornings,  always locked his bedroom door with the radio playing when Lawrence got back from second shift. The drive out of Hamtramck was easy, only traffic was from the shift change or a line at the liquor store where Lawrence always picked up beer.

He trudged up the stairs, past the speed freak, the angry bum screaming about his wife throwing him out after a fight, past the girl in too much makeup and too tight a sweater who was always begging for rides to the drugstore for cigarettes, up to the shabby apartment. Betty was fast asleep on the cot surrounded by screens behind the couch in the living room, Mary wouldn't be home until after last call, and George--

Lawrence could hear the telltale sounds of the mattress squeaking, even with the radio on. Well, George _was_ fifteen. Best to give him a little privacy.

Lawrence sat in the kitchen with a beer, letting the pain and soreness slowly creep out of his body. He made a mental list of errands for the next day: laundry, grocery shopping, finding a new doctor to hustle for pills for his shoulder--anything to distract from his body being too decrepit for 22 and the faint sounds of his little brother pulling off.

Finally,  there was a muffled groan, and the radio cut off, and Lawrence heard George unlock the door, shuffle off to the bathroom and clean up.

George leaned against the doorway of the cramped kitchen as he pulled on a worn t-shirt. The thin cotton clung to his chest, and Lawrence snuck a glance at the front of his briefs. Those were tight as well, and didn't leave much to the imagination--at least  _that_ was filling out nicely.

They stared in silence, until Lawrence grunted something about wanting to pass the fuck out. For all his sullen posturing, George was a clinger when he slept. It was hard enough to sleep on the narrow mattress, harder still when George’s ass kept rubbing up against his crotch. He whined whenever Lawrence tried to shift positions, so he was stuck being wedged against his little brother’s perky ass, hoping George didn't notice the effect it had on him.

  
  



	2. going faster miles an hour

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Looks like you need some practice” Lawrence growled, and George felt dizzy. Lawrence was close enough that he could smell his cigarettes and sweat, and he still had him pinned, and of course his body chose that moment to betray him in the stupidest way possible.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please heed the tags. There's no slow burn here.

George kept having dreams. They were all the same--vague composites of different guys that had George wake up in the middle of the night with his cock throbbing, making him untangle himself from Lawrence and rush to jerk off in the bathroom. 

But sometimes he woke up to a sticky mess inside his shorts while his brother snored next to him. Fortunately Lawrence didn't seem to notice, and neither his mother or Betty commented on his doing the laundry without asking. They didn't notice or care about anything George did, really. Lawrence was the one who helped with homework, or asked about school, or hung out with him in the deserted courtyard. 

“The kids in stair four don't give you any shit, do they?” Lawrence crushed his cigarette into the cracked pavement. 

“Nah”. 

Lawrence sized him up, which made him shudder. Lawrence could look at him like he knew all George’s secrets, that he knew he stared at the bulge in Lawrence’s briefs every morning. “Well, what's your form like, kiddo?”

Lawrence was the one who taught George how to fight, with Dad watching and giving pointers. But playfully sparring on the front lawn was different, from a different time. George straightened up, balled his hands into fists, one foot in front of the other. Lawrence smiled. “Nice. Go on, try me”.

George aimed his swing for his brother's good shoulder, but Lawrence blocked him and countered. He swung at George, but he ducked.

They tussled, less punches and more attempts to grab and subdue each other. Lawrence was bigger, and managed to pin George against the grimy brick wall.

“Looks like you need some practice” Lawrence growled, and George felt dizzy. Lawrence was close enough that he could smell his cigarettes and sweat, and he still had him pinned, and of course his body chose that moment to betray him in the stupidest way possible. 

There's no way Lawrence couldn't feel it, not with how tightly he was pressed against him, and sure enough his eyes widened and he let George go. He slouched against the wall and stared at his shoes. George could feel his face burning, and he mumbled at his sneakers. “Sorry, I don't know--”.

“It happens.”, Lawrence chuckled.  “You'll grow out of it. But it's best not to pop one during a fight kiddo.”

“Yeah.”

  
  


###

  
  


Lawrence remembers going to the museum on a school trip, and seeing the murals of larger-than-life men building cars and planes against a sweeping industrial landscape. The guy who painted it, some Commie bastard, made it look so exciting and noble. 

In reality, it was mundane. Men filed into the plant and filed out like clockwork. Give GM thirty years, get a decent pension. Insurance that covered every pain pill under the sun. Coworkers that all looked and sounded the same: how's the wife how's the kids heard you had a great night at the lanes. It was everything not to die of boredom doing the same thing over and over again, and his mind wandered as he worked.

More often than not, it wandered to George.

He'd been acting more squirrely lately, as if he  _ knew _ that Lawrence was fighting a losing battle. He'd woken up in the middle of the night to find George rubbing against Lawrence’s leg in his sleep. He caught him staring at Lawrence as they undressed. He kept wanting to practice fighting, which always lead to George locking himself into the bedroom afterwards. Kid wasn't subtle. 

He wanted it. It was only a matter of time. 

  
  
  


###

  
  


George woke up in the middle of the night because the bed was shaking. The reason made George bury himself into his pillow.

Lawrence was naked and jerking off, one arm sprawled across his face while the other stroked his cock. Hiding his face in the pillow didn't erase what he just saw, or Lawrence’s breathy gasps or the slick sounds he made while pulling off.

He peeked. He couldn't help it.

Lawrence’s cock was big and thick, with a slight curve, and he was mesmerized by Lawrence bucking up and fucking it into his fist. George watched his thighs flex, his chest heave with each stroke, and he realized that his own dick was causing him problems. 

Still, he couldn't stop watching. 

Lawrence’s panting got louder as his strokes quickened. George realized that he was grinding against the mattress. It wasn't nearly enough to satisfy the throbbing ache in his groin, but he didn't dare try and touch himself. 

Lawrence turned his head towards George and his eyes slid open. He came with an  _ oh  _ **_fuck_ ** and his release painted his chest. 

George froze. He could feel his face burning with shame and arousal, and buried it into the pillow, until he could only take shallow breaths. George could hear Lawrence get up, and he tried to focus on anything other than his cock pressing out of his underwear. Hopefully Lawrence would ignore him and they'd forget this happened.

He felt a hand trace circles along the small of his back, and then drift down until it was palming his erection.

“Go on baby,” Lawrence muttered “You'll feel better.” George buried his head in the pillow as he humped his big brother’s hand, slowly at first, and then more rapidly as his body overrode his embarrassment and shame. The pressure was overwhelming and George whined into the pillow.

“Feels good, doesn't it?” Lawrence  crouched down to growl in George’s ear, and George shuddered. Yes, it felt good, so good that George didn't even care about whether anyone else could hear the noises he was making into his pillow. “You're so desperate for it, aren't you? You gonna come?”

_ I'm trying _ , he sobbed into the pillow. 

“I've thought about this for a long time, getting my hands on that nice big prick of yours.” George was close, so close, it wouldn't take much--

“Go on,” Lawrence whispered, his breath hot against George’s ear, “Show your big brother how much you like this.”

  
“Fuck. Fuckfuckfuck.  _ Shit” _ . George bit the pillow as he twitched and shuddered. His underwear were absolutely soaked, and so was Lawrence’s hand as he stroked him through it. He managed to lift his hips so Lawrence could yank off his underwear.“God you've got a gorgeous ass”, Lawrence mumbled, and George shuddered. He rolled George on his back and cleaned him off with a rag, then tossed him a pair of sweatpants. They hung off his hips, but they were soft and warm. Lawrence pulled George close and ran his hand through George’s scalp. It wasn't long until he passed out.


	3. and the neon when it's cold outside

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "C’mon, let me take a look at you.” George’s cheeks burned as he stretched out in the tub. Lawrence bit his lip as he looked him over. He seemed satisfied that the damage was only scraped knees, a black eye and a split lip. George hugged his knees to his chest as Lawrence took another drag of his cigarette. “Shy, aren’t you?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaaaand we're back.
> 
> Welcome back to your favorite gross AmRev ship, now with 100% more emotional damage. Mind the tags.

George didn’t have any dreams that night. He stumbled out of bed in the morning while Lawrence snored and scrubbed the dried cum off his thighs in the bathroom, trying not to dwell on what caused the mess in the first place. He stared at his bowl of oatmeal while his mother drank coffee and Betty chattered about the sleepover she’d been invited to attend. George felt restless on the walk to school, and the agitation simmered into anger and resentment once he got to school. He couldn’t figure out what caused it; he only knew that if he didn't beat the shit out of someone he’d crawl right out of his skin.

He didn’t know what exactly caused the  fight. It didn't matter. The only thing that mattered was getting more blows in than the other guys. But George was outnumbered and barely managed to escape by scrambling up the chain link fence and running off before the principal ran into the courtyard.

He limped home. Lawrence's car was still in the parking lot, but he wasn't inside. George shrugged off his clothes and turned on the bathtub faucet. There were two temperatures: freezing cold and scalding hot, so George hissed as he lowered himself into the steaming water. The phone rang, probably the school secretary, who still hadn’t figured out that his mother wasn’t home during the day.

He heard heavy footsteps climb the stairs and enter the apartment. He heard Lawrence curse under his breath and George curled into himself as Lawrence opened the bathroom door.

He sighed, leaned on the sink and opened a fresh pack of cigarettes. “Looks like you got your ass kicked.”

George stared at the ceiling. “I punched the one guy in the jaw real good. It woulda been different if it was just one of them but I was outnumbered.”

Lawrence chuckled. “Whatever you say, kiddo.”

They passed the cigarette back and forth in silence. George hugged his knees and Lawrence chuckled.

“C’mon, let me take a look at you.” George’s cheeks burned as he stretched out in the tub. Lawrence bit his lip as he looked him over. He seemed satisfied that the damage was only scraped knees, a black eye and a split lip. George hugged his knees to his chest as Lawrence took another drag of his cigarette. “Shy, aren’t you?”

“Shut up”, George snarled.

“Hey”, Lawrence crouched down next to George. “That smart mouth of yours is gonna get you in trouble.” Before George could say anything, Lawrence leaned in and kissed him roughly. George squeaked and tried to flinch away, but Lawrence gripped the back of his head and pushed his tongue between his teeth. He tasted like salt and cigarettes, and George finally managed to pull away. Lawrence smirked.

“Gotta relax, kiddo.”

He kissed him again, this time pulling his hair until George groaned, which only made Lawrence do it again. He felt dizzy and lightheaded and his entire body felt warm even though the bathwater was lukewarm and tepid. Lawrence pulled away and stood up. “I gotta get to work. Stay out of trouble.”

 

His mother made it home before Lawrence did, her heels clicking against the floor and George waited for her to shut her bedroom door to resume grinding against the pillow. He couldn't focus and all his fantasies circled back to grinding against Lawrence's palm. He tossed the pillow aside in frustration.

Finally, he heard the door open and Lawrence's heavy footsteps across the apartment. He leaned against the doorway. “You still up?”.

Lawrence pulled off the blanket and sat on the edge of the bed.

“I couldn’t sleep”, George mumbled. He stood up, peeling off his underwear while Lawrence stared hungrily. He straddled Lawrence and kissed him roughly. Lawrence pulled him closer and purred in his ear. “What do you want, baby?”

  
“Touch me” he gasped. George buried his face in Lawrence's neck as he wrapped his hand around his cock and slowly stroked him off. Everything else was wiped from his brain, nothing else mattered as he squirmed in his brother’s lap.

**Author's Note:**

> Title is from a Johnathan Richman song, about the car of the same name.
> 
> Please consider a young Thomas Jane as Lawrence.


End file.
